Hamburgers and Pancakes
by Kishiro Kitsune
Summary: After a fight with England, Alfred fell into a depressed state, causing Matthew to worry unnecessarily about his brother. And so, Ivan stepped in to "fix" things. IvanxMatthew


**Hamburgers and Pancakes**

"He's eating hamburgers again…"

It was a quiet admission. Spoken in a way that Ivan knew that Matthew hadn't meant to say it out loud. Because of that, his curiosity was piqued.

What did Matthew mean by that? He couldn't have meant America. The nation was always stuffing his face with the food at meetings. He'd lost count of what the record number was.

Matthew rolled over onto his back, his vivid blue eyes staring unseeingly at the dark ceiling. Though time was ticking away into the early hours of morning, he didn't feel the least bit tired. His mind was consumed with worry for his brother.

Ivan was already facing his lover, his violet eyes sleepy but concerned. He wouldn't get any rest until Matthew was ready to sleep as well.

"Who's eating hamburgers?"

"Huh?" Matthew blinked in confusion, turning his head to look at Ivan.

"You said someone is eating hamburgers again," Ivan patiently explained. "Who is it?"

Matthew silently looked at him for a moment before turning his eyes back to the plain ceiling. His brother wouldn't be happy with him for talking to Ivan about his problems, but he needed to tell someone. (Someone who _wasn't_ Kumajiro.)

Ivan wouldn't tell. And it wasn't something Russia would use against America. (If it were China, then yes, though Matthew had about had it with Russia's almost-obsession with the Asian country.)

"Alfred's eating hamburger's again. He only does that when he's upset."

"Upset? Matvey, I have a hard time imagining that. He is always eating them. It is what America does."

"America…" Canada whispered. "Yes. America does… America loves hamburgers. He likes fireworks and explosions. He loves being seen as a hero. He loves being the center of attention, even if it means being a complete idiot."

Ivan frowned at the distant tone Canada was using.

"But Alfred," Matthew's voice took on a more familiar tone. One that was soft and warm, two of the things that were the reason Ivan fell in love with him. "Alfred likes all kinds of food. When he's stressed, he eats mountains of hamburgers. Alfred likes times of peace and quiet, though he hates being by himself. He likes watching scary movies and then running to someone for comfort. He _likes_ drinking tea. He… he's not an idiot. Clueless, yes. But…most of what you see…it isn't him. That isn't Alfred. It's America."

"Like Matvey is Matvey, not Canada? And Ivan is Ivan, not Russia?"

Eyes wide, Matthew turned his head to look back at his lover. He took in those sincere, but confused, violet eyes; the way his brows furrowed in worry; those lips, partially open as if there was more he wanted to say.

Matthew smiled and shyly kissed Ivan. It was soft and sweet. Gentle. "Exactly," he whispered.

Ivan smiled back, his worry and confusion dissipating as he pulled the smaller nation close, eagerly taking in the warmth the sunny blond had to offer. Although he was content, he knew Matthew wasn't done talking.

"So what has America so upset?"

Matthew snuggled against him. "Hmm…? Oh." The darker tone returned to his voice. _"Angleterre."_

Ivan was surprised by the sudden use of French. Normally, Matthew only spoke English. It was only when he was angry or annoyed that he began speaking in French. In fact, the last time Ivan had heard him speak in the language was at the last meeting when France dared to touch him inappropriately.

Russia growled at the memory, tightening his arms around _his_ Canada.

"Ivan?"

Violet eyes lightened at the soft-spoken name. "So, it's England."

"_Oui. Je ne sais pas-_" Canada stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath as skilled fingers ran through his golden hair, soothing him. "I don't know what England did, but I know something happened. Alfred only reacts like this when England has done something." He paused to chuckle. "Or when he's done something to England."

Ivan was smirking as he gently kissed Matthew's forehead. "That is quite common."

"Yeah," agreed Matthew.

And that was that. Together, wrapped in warmth, the pair of lovers drifted off into blissful sleep.

.

* * *

.

Matthew was making pancakes when the kitchen door swung open, letting the chill of winter blow into the room. He sighed and retrieved another plate from the cupboard, knowing without looking who his uninvited guest was.

"Good morning, Alfred."

Looking absolutely miserable, Alfred shuffled into the kitchen. He remembered to shut the door for once before removing his winter coat, revealing his familiar brown bomber jacket. He even remembered to take off his boots before slowly making his way over to the kitchen table to sit down.

Matthew checked the pancakes on the stove and then carried a clean plate and a fresh stack of food to the table. "Nantucket's drooping," he noticed aloud. He frowned, noticing something else was off. "Where's Texas?"

"Hmm…?" Alfred sounded utterly confused. "In the south…"

Matthew sighed. "Okay. Any requests for pancakes?"

Alfred stared at the stack in the middle of the table for a few frustratingly long seconds before turning his large blue eyes to his brother. "Chocolate chip?"

How could Matthew deny such a request? He gave a small smile and then set about to uncovering the bag of chocolate chips he kept specifically for the American's surprise visits.

And so, it was to the scene of Matthew bustling about the kitchen making pancakes while a depressed Alfred sat at the table staring at his plate, that Ivan entered the room.

He frowned, not surprised to see America there, but not happy about it either. Crossing the room, he decided a kiss from his Matvey was his first priority. He also knew that the action would most likely snap the American out of whatever trance he was in.

An annoyed America he could deal with. A depressed one, he could not.

Ivan hummed in pleasure when Matthew let him wrap his arms around his waist and pull him flush against his body. Grinning at the blush spreading across his lover's face, Ivan placed a chaste kiss on his cheek before releasing him so Matthew could continue cooking unhindered.

His grin faded when he began walking to the table.

America hadn't moved.

In fact, if anything, he looked more dejected than before.

Ivan sat down across from the American and frowned when the blond continued staring at his plate.

What had happened? England and America were always fighting and fussing about something or other. No matter what the topic was, each of them bounced back quickly with their own retort before someone finally stepped in to put an end to their foolish bickering. (Not that it mattered, since they'd be fighting about something else within minutes.) For the nation to be depressed to the point of not speaking, it must have been serious.

They sat in silence. Neither moved to take one of Matthew's fresh-made pancakes. (Though Ivan did when Matthew set a plate in front of him, complete with a bottle of his beloved maple syrup. It would've been rude to not eat it.)

"Eat something. Please," Matthew quietly told his brother. He slid the requested chocolate chip pancakes onto Alfred's tray with a hopeful expression on his face, which soon faded when his brother continue to sit there.

For Ivan, that was the last straw.

If America wanted to sit there and act like a child because of some fight, that was fine. But the second his sadness affected _his _Matvey, Russia was going to step in and do something.

No one made Matthew sad. It wasn't allowed.

Ivan pushed back his chair as he stood, violet eyes darkening as they fixed on America. An aura of darkness oozed from him as he slowly and quietly stalked over to the blond.

"I-Ivan?" Matthew asked nervously. Reflexively, he stepped away from his brother. He recognized that look. He knew what it meant.

He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling cold. He watched with worried blue eyes as Russia stood in front of his brother for a few brief seconds before his hand shot out and grasped the furry collar of America's jacket, hoisting him to his feet.

"Enough," growled Russia. "Matvey is worried and all you do is sit there. He made you food and you won't eat it. _Unacceptable._" He let go of America's collar, smirking when the man crumpled to the floor. His eyes glittered maliciously as he crouched down, taking some pleasure in seeing the nation so broken before him. "Don't involve Matvey in your problems and then ignore him when he tries to help. If you have problems with England, solve them on your own."

Matthew gnawed his lower lip when Russia leaned forward to hiss something in America's ear that he couldn't understand. Before he knew it, Russia was in front of him, staring down at him with dark eyes.

Shivering, Matthew turned his head and closed his eyes. Something in his chest tightened painfully at how wrong the situation was.

It wasn't how his morning was supposed to go. He was supposed to wake up, make pancakes (with plenty of delicious maple syrup) for him and Ivan, feed Kumajiro before the bear could eat his clothing again, and spend several hours cuddling in the warm house with his Russian lover.

Instead, his perfect morning had been interrupted by his dejected older brother, who couldn't even appreciate the food he cooked. On top of that, Ivan had gotten angry enough to go into full-blown Russia-mode and it always took _hours _to get him back.

Tears pricked at his eyes. Why did nothing ever go right in his life? Just for once he'd like-

"Matvey…" Warmth encircled him. "Matvey, don't cry. Please don't cry."

Matthew's eyes flew open at the soft voice. He wasn't sure when it happened or how he hadn't noticed, but he was wrapped up in his lover's protective embrace. "I-Ivan?" He whispered, daring to meet the taller man's eyes.

Light violet eyes peered sadly back at him from behind pale blond bangs. "I made Matvey sad."

Matthew sniffled and buried his face into Ivan's chest, raising his arms to hug his lover. "I-It's okay. I'm fine. Everything's okay."

"I'm sorry."

Neither of them noticed as Alfred picked himself up off the floor. At first he watched them with a blank expression, which quickly became a sad one. From there it changed to his customary annoyed look, the one he seemed to reserve for times when the Russian was touching his little brother (or when he was in the general vicinity, really). But even that slowly changed to a smile as he watched the two.

And then his stomach rumbled, cutting off any possible thoughts Alfred may have had about Ivan actually being good for his brother. He turned around, his eyes landing on the mountain of pancakes before him.

He loved Matthew's cooking.

.

* * *

End

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End file.
